Assassin's Creed: Unite
by Rougeification
Summary: SYOC! In an age of chaos and a time of change, four young heroes will emerge. Join them as they fight against the Tyranny of the Templars, the Domination of a Despotic Monarch, and more importantly, each other - all in the name of Liberation and Unity. W. Dawson's Ancestor. Set in 1789 - the French Revolution
1. Character Form

**Okay, so I've recently been watching the Unity videos, and it gave me the idea for another SYOC - I'm only accepting 3 other main characters, who will be the other Assassins. Bear in mind, this will not include Arno... probably. Anyway, submit your characters through a PM! This story should take off some time soon...**

**So - be as detailed as possible! I'll post a cast list soon depending on the submissions.**

Name:

Age:

Gender:

Nationality:

Allegiance('s):

Appearance: (Hair, Eyes, skin, height, build, any scars etc)

Clothing: (Remember, they blend into the crowds)

Weapon of Choice: (Be creative, but not ridiculous - all Assassins will have a hidden blade, don't worry)

Secondary Weapon: (Ranged weapon)

Morality: (i.e. help the starving, or focus on the mission?)

Personality: (Fairly detailed please)

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Background: (A couple of paragraphs on their life story prior)

Fighting Style: (Offensive/Defensive? Duelling or tight-fighting?)

Stealth or Improvise?:

Work well in a team or not?:

Merciful or Leave No Witnesses?:

Strong Believer in the Creed?

Any Skills?:

Other:


	2. Prologue: The Fall of a King

**Okay - so there's been a lot of applications coming in - only one has been accepted - and they know who they are. I have to clarify a few things:**

**They must be realistic - for instance, a Native American would not have left their homeland, let alone travel to Paris from America. Also, France and Britain were at war - an Englishman would not be in Paris. For instance, my character is French. Moreover, not every Assassin can come from Nobility - none of the Nobles wanted the revolution.**

**The weapons must be within the setting - that means no Roman gladius, no tomahawk - most of the weapons were cutlasses, pistols, hammers, pikes and staffs...**

**The whole 'morality' thing is whether they would abandon the mission to help people that were, for example, starving - they cannot do both. This is about their mentality: Does the mission matter more than the people in trouble? There's no right or wrong answer.**

**Merciful or Leave No Witnesses - now, when those of you say "he won't kill someone that's not in his way" - that's good, but what about those that are in his way? For instance, after interrogating someone, would he be like Edward and let them go, or Altair and kill them so as to not risk the Target finding out?**

**All I'm saying is do a bit of research - I've had to make compromises to make my character to fit into the era a little bit more. So - you can resubmit your characters, tweaking these things about them, but there's only two more slots open - so get them in as soon as you can.**

Prologue: The Fall of a King

21 January 1793

The cheering of the crowd echoed through the streets, jeers and blood-thirsty yells reverberated across the rooftops and swept under my hood and into my ears. I flickered my eyes towards the scaffold, occupied by two men in tri-corner hats. A third man stood at the bottom of the scaffold, holding a length of rope in his hands; No doubt they were to bind the former monarch.

The carriage arrived, swept up in a wave of troops, which consisted of the most desperate and hateful citizens of Paris. I noticed a number of drums in front of the horses; Presumably an attempt to drown out any noise or cheers for the King - an unnecessary precaution. No one stood at their windows or their doors - everyone was in the streets, eagerly awaiting the show.

I watched as the man was forcibly dragged from the carriage, with three soldiers moving to strip him of his clothes, only the prisoner shrugged their hands away; beginning to undress himself. I smiled sadly to myself - the Third Estate had revolted because of their abuse, yet here they were, acting as vile as those they fought against.

He was led by the arm to the scaffold, with the crowds maliciously screaming obscenities at the man, who arrived at the foot of the scaffold, and after some dispute, hopelessly agreed to allow his hands to be bound.

He was led up to the top of the scaffold, where he looked out amongst the masses, all of whom called for his blood. He walked along the scaffold by himself, and began to address the crowds in a loud, steady voice.

"I die innocent of all crimes laid to my charge!" He called towards the masses, who had quietened down some since he stepped in the front of the stage. "I pardon those who have occasioned my death!" I may had been standing high upon a building but I was sure his face turned towards my direction, and had I been closer, I would've seen his eyes bore straight into mine. "And I pray to God that the blood you are about to shed may never be visited on France."

I looked down at the figure - his face no longer holding any dread or sadness, but more tranquility. It was known that he had never desired the crown, and had often wished he wasn't king. He opened his mouth to progress with his speech, only to be drowned out as a soldier on horseback gave a signal for the drums, which rattled enough to drown out his words. The men and women he had once governed shouted in demand for his head. The man was thrown towards the guillotine and fitted to the bench.

I remained on the rooftop, watching the most virtuous king France had ever had strapped to the guillotine. In a moment, the guillotine swept down, and the crowd thundered a cheer so loud it could've been heard not just across the country, but even across the channel.

A young soldier held up the twitching face of the man by a handful of his hair, showing him to the crowd as he walked across the scaffold. They rejoiced, their bloodlust sated at the death of not just a king, but also a husband and a father - like them. I crossed my chest and lowered my head.

"_Aller à Dieu_."


	3. Chapter 1: Aller à Dieu

**Okay - thanks for the attention I've got for this story. I've spent quite a bit of time figuring out a basic chain of events of this story. Before you read the first official chapter, a note to all applicants:**

**Every character needs a unique background. So, I can't have anymore people from Noble birth of a background of slavery - If I'm being honest, the background isn't important to the story, but it's important to your character. I'm just looking for one or two really REALLY good applications before the story gets really underway. **

**Also, I need your characters to be incredibly researched - they need to be able to blend into history perfectly.**

Chapter One: Aller à Dieu

_Adler Residence, Rouen, France_

_29th September 1788_

I sat by the window, reading a book - Homer's _Iliad_. I had read it multiple times, yet it never failed to amaze me; the images of Troy, with the marvels of beautiful and awe-inspiring architecture. It was the first book that my grandfather had taught me to read. I found it difficult at first, being written in the scripture of Ancient Greek, but this was just one of the many lessons he taught me - with practice comes perseverance.

I looked out of the window, across the lush rows of hills, rose bushes growing into hedges and vines winding around the trees off in the distance. Past the trees I could see it - the city of Paris. I had never been before, and often longed to go - as a child, I had been confined to my grandfather's land, and once I was old enough to go, I needed to stay and help him manage his affairs - given his gradual worsening of his illness.

"_Monsieur_?" I looked towards the maid, Dominique. "He wishes to see you now." I nodded my thanks and closed the book, placing it on the windowsill and making my way up the stairs after the young girl, who led me to the Master's room - he lay there in bed, with a physician by his side. I looked towards the man, who shook his head sadly, packing away various instruments into his black bag, which he handed to a younger, scrawny boy, years younger than myself.

My gaze drifted towards the sickly man in bed - his hair was now void of all black strands, and was conquered by age's white threads that stemmed from his scalp. His green eyes - my own green eyes, seemed to ache and wither along with his skin, but still twinkled with a hint of naivety.

"Fillian?" I looked towards my grandfather, who now reached out with a hand.

"_Oui_." I moved forwards, sitting in the armchair that had been moved up to his chambers a month ago. I took his hand in mine. "I'm right here." His eyes found me, and a smile etched upon his worn and scarred skin.

"Ah... Fillian." I returned the smile, only mine was filled with sorrow. He examined me. "You have been reading." He stated. I nodded.

"How'd you always know?" His smile simply widened. He then glanced at the physician and Dominique.

"Leave us." He instructed. The physician and his apprentice bowed before departing the room with Dominique. I watched them leave before turning my attention back to my grandfather.

He watched the door close and then looked back to me.

"I trust you are in good health?" I nodded. "This is encouragement enough for you to stay so." I chuckled sadly. "You are a man now." He sighed. "It seems like days ago you first held a blade." I nodded, remembering the weight of the rapier from when I was a child. "Fillian, you are to be named my heir." He said suddenly. My eyes widened.

"I..." I tried to explain how humbled I felt by this. "But, it's not my place. I am only..." I tried to state a thousand different flaws to his intentions in one sentence.

"A bastard?" He asked. He chuckled, placing his other hand on top of mine. "You are my blood. No one else is as suitable as you." He reassuringly smiled, then started coughing once again.

"I'll fetch the physician-" I went to go, but my grandfather's gentle resting hand turned to a tight grip on my wrist, chaining me to the bedside.

"Do not fuss." He insisted. "I've taken up enough of Lenoux's time. He's a busy man; his time would be better served healing someone other than a dying man." I felt immediately like disagreeing, but I did not want my last few moments with my grandfather being an argument. "But that was not what I wanted to talk to you about." He eventually spoke again. "Of all things in this world, what do you value most?" I bit my lip, thinking hard.

"A belly full of wine." I said finally. My grandfather gave another throaty chuckle.

"Of the immaterial, what is the most important?" I bit my lip - what did I value? "Honour?" My grandfather suggested. "Justice? Peace?"

I paused, thinking again, only to have my mind completely vacant of values. After a few seconds, I realised another.

I thought of all the things he had said - honour was important - it had been instilled inside me since I could first speak; Honour of my family, honour of my country - anyone with honour was their own man, answering to no one.

But what about justice? It was certainly important to me - it was why we had a government - to ensure justice is dispensed and regulated fairly. Without justice, society would fall apart. Justice was important - it was made everyone equal; everyone had to answer to their crimes.

As for peace - it was by far very important. Simply because war tore apart families and turned people against each other. Peace allowed for progress, government, families. It was undoubtedly the most important out of all of these values; without Peace, one could not be free to govern their own lives - they would surely be conscripted or forced to fund a war.

As I began to speak, I realised something - something that occurred in all of these values - something that bound them together. Upon my epiphany, I recognized that this was definitely the most important thing in the world without question.

"Liberty." I said finally to my grandfather. "Freedom is what I value." My grandfather beamed, and patted my hand.

"You are very much like your mother." He said, making me grin. "In my study, there is a chest. It contains my effects from when I was a younger man." His eyes began to sparkle, cast with reminiscence and nostalgia. "The chest is marked with a symbol, use your skill to find it." I nodded, taking his instruction. "After finding the chest, you must go to Paris, and seek out _le Nid d'Aigle_." I nodded. "Go now - I'm not going anywhere." He said in a tone of reassurance. I stood up, feeling reluctant to leave, and left the room, allowing the physician, Lenoux, and his apprentice to enter the room, led by Dominique.

I walked across the wooden floorboards until I came to a solid oak door, which I pushed open, entering the large study, filled with a large wooden desk beside a large gilded-framed mirror, a vast collection of books and a set of swords, held up on display on a rack, complete with gilded guards and ornate swirls around the hilt.

Puzzlement consumed my mind as I thought about what my grandfather's instructions - there was no chest here. No mark that I could see.

I closed my eyes, trying to call upon my 'skill'. I tried to focus on the sounds of the creaking floorboards, the feel of the humid French air that fell upon my skin, the smell of roses drifting in through the open windows, the taste of wine that still sat upon my lips.

I opened my eyes.

Everything was dimmed - it was as if I was activating every sense I possessed, and found everything in the study lacking interest - I had held this 'skill', as my grandfather called it, since I was a boy - I had been the only one who held it, according to my grandfather, who had often asked me about it, writing down the details in one of his various journals.

Then, something caught my attention.

I walked towards a certain floorboard, which glowed with an unusual aura. It pulsed with a white throbbing air. I walked towards it, and upon stepping on it, I heard an echo. I frowned, pushing more weight onto it - a creak showed that the floorboard held an empty space below it. I walked over to the rack of swords, pulling out a cutlass and using the stiff metal blade that foils lacked to pry open the floorboard with surprising ease.

Upon opening the floorboard, I found a long, fairly narrow chest. I grabbed it, pulling it out of the floor and placing it beside the void below. I examined the open lock, which was decorated with a carved triangular marking - one I had not ever come across in my grandfather's vast inventory of family trees and coat of arms.

I lifted up the lid, peering inside the chest - inside sat a collection of peculiar items.

Inside the chest lay another cutlass, only this one was sheathed, with no ornate hand guard - just a simple hooked thread of metal in front of a hilt, hidden behind a golden dish.

I tied the belt around my waist, allowing it to hang slightly lower than my own original belt. As I did tie the belt, I noticed the same mark carved into the chest acting as a buckle, silver-laced with a flourish in its smithing. Behind my right hip, the belt held a holster. Was my grandfather a soldier? I had never heard of him fighting before.

I reached back into the chest, this time pulling out a long emerald coat, decorated with various golden buttons and black trimmings. I pulled it out, trying it on - it fit as if it had been tailored for me. I felt something bush against my neck, and found a hood attached to the top of the coat - a beaked hood. I pulled it over my head, observing my reflection in the mirror - my face was concealed save my nose and chin, which lay lightly with stubble. I frowned in bemusement - what a strange choice of attire.

Only one item lay inside the chest now - a bracer. I pulled it out, examining it better; It was leather, with a pair of straps on the inside, along with a strange contraption. On the front of the bracer was a coat of arms - a large silver lion sat astrid a helmet, with a plumage of feathers. Below the helmet was another lion, raised up on it's hind legs. I buckled the straps tightly, examining the small machinery that lay against my wrist. It seemed to be blade of some kind...

"_Monsieur_?" I looked back to Dominique's voice, leaving the study and walking into my grandfather's chambers. I did not think to remove my grandfather's effects as I pulled down the hood, walking through the hallway and back into my grandfather's chambers.

He lay there, completely motionless, his eyes glazed and his smile etched upon his grizzled face. His hand lay where mine had been. He may had looked the same as he had been mere minutes before, but there was an absence of spirit in the room - he was dead.

I clasped my hands in front of my waist and we all bowed our heads.

"_Aller à Dieu_." Lenoux muttered to himself.

"_Aller à Dieu_." Lenoux's apprentice, Dominique and I muttered in broken unison.

**Please leave a review saying what you thought of the first chapter - I've spent quite a bit of time on it, and will hopefully be updating every week or so.**


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